Sovereign Sequence
by Sojourney
Summary: Interludes upon the childhood of one Alexander Xanatos and the machinations thereof, both subtle and obvious.
1. Variant

**SOVERIGN SEQUENCE**

**A/N: **Wrote this when I was feeling nostalgic for my very first fandom. It meanders a lot. The story, that is, although my attention span often goes with it.

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**I. Variant**

David Xanatos leaned on the nursery door frame and watched the slim figure move through the shadows cast by the high windows, the brilliant white moon seeping in even through the heavy curtains. The light made a halo around the slender one, although he had seen other times - and on cloudy nights - where the aura was present and nothing short of an alien beauty could account for it.

"I take it the lesson went well," he said, stepping into the room and noting that Puck didn't seem startled; he never did, and Xanatos had long given up trying to sneak up on the fey.

"Of course," Puck answered, though his voice was quiet, and he picked up a stuffed animal to put it back on bookcase shelf (Xanatos noted with some amusement that he had to stand on tiptoe to do so). This wasn't the first time the billionaire had caught the fey cleaning up without using magic after a lesson. He had no explanation other than, with Alex asleep, Puck was just trying to find time to be himself - literally.

"Of course," Xanatos echoed with a smile. "Who better to teach my son magic, after all?"

"Magic is like..." Puck frowned, toying with a comparison.

"Science?" Xanatos offered helpfully.

"Explosions."

The finality in the word made Xanatos shiver, and he sought to shake off the chill with a bit of banter that had always worked before; he ignored the grip of cold in the pit of his stomach that said that it would not work tonight. "You can predict explosions, though."

"In theory," Puck countered, leaning over the edge of the crib and looking down at the sleeping form of his charge, his voice low. "But there are always variables. Random factors that don't follow a set path. Deviations."

The fierce satisfaction in his tone made Xanatos nervous. Puck turned blue eyes on him, and the billionaire wished for a moment it was Owen he was speaking with, and not Puck. He had never found an adjective that properly described the fey's eyes; they were just... blue.

"Don't you agree?" Puck coaxed.

"Deviations," Xanatos agreed, and his mouth seemed dry. The unfinished sentence hung in the air, and he added weakly, "We should let him sleep."

A glow too bright to have been moonlight, and Puck was gone, leaving Owen in his place. The spell was broken, and Xanatos gave his aide a shaky smile. "I'll be in my office."

"Yes, Mr. Xanatos," Owen replied with a respectful tilt of his head.

Once the billionaire left the room, Owen leaned down and straightened Alex's covers precisely. "You will be my random variable," he murmured fondly, and left the room with a smile.


	2. Second Son

**II. Second Son**

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**

The ebony piece came down with a precise click. "Checkmate."

The red haired boy leaned back, surveying the board, then thoughtfully tipped his king over using one slim finger. "Good game, Father."

David Xanatos regarded his son carefully. At ten years old, Alexander was everything he could have wanted in his progeny: intelligent, adaptable, charismatic, possessing a presence that demanded respect and obedience. Yet he was also curious, a boy fascinated with toys and cartoon robots, who always wanted chocolate ice cream for dessert, who hated carrots and green Jello, who called him Daddy and looked at him in unabashed adoration.

_When,_ Xanatos wondered, _did I have a second son?_

For they seemed like two creatures, that precious and precocious child, and the calm and calculating enigma that sat opposite him now.

"Very good," Xanatos agreed, hoping to coax the other back, now that the game was done. "You've definitely improved, Alex. Make sure you keep practicing."

"I will," Alex promised idly, still looking at the board. After a moment, he added speculatively, "I could have put you in check."

"Where?"

Alex swiftly rearranged the pieces, returning to some half dozen turns beforehand. "Here," he said. "Bishop to pawn four."

There was suddenly a hole in Xanatos' reconstructed flank. He was about to move his rook to correct the problem when he noticed Alex's own rook, lying in wait next to an innocent pawn. Quickly judging this, he realized he now had to rethink his strategy.

"That's a good move, son," he said, watching for a reaction. "Very clever. Why didn't you use it?"

"You would have taken my knight."

Xanatos looked at the ivory horseman, its kinsmen long removed from play. With the rook now engaging the king, the knight was deep in enemy territory, with already two avenues of escape blocked. It would have fallen quickly to the black queen.

"You favour the knights," the father noted. "The most versatile and most limited of pieces. Most people prefer the queen."

"The queen is bound to the same rules as the others. Only the knight is above those rules."

"And bound by an entirely more restrictive set," Xanatos pointed out. "If you'd sacrificed your knight, you could have won."

Alex folded his hands under his chin, a gesture he'd learned from the man in front of him. "I _would_ have won," he corrected implacably. "But then I would have no defender, and my position would be weak."

Xanatos felt a chill crawl down his spine. "Checkmate ends the game," he reminded, but his throat felt dry. "There is nothing after that."

"I know, Daddy." The switch was so fast that he'd missed it, and Alex blinked at his confusion curiously, then grinned. "But I'll win next time!"

"Good boy, Alex," the elder stated, shamed with relief. "But now it's time for bed."

He tucked his son in, left the door cracked, and retreated to his office. It took two shots of cognac to calm his nerves.

Alex slept and dreamt of tall ebon kings falling before him.


	3. Misconduct Penalty

**III. Misconduct Penalty**

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**

Alex stalked into Owen's office, flung his backpack into the chair, and flopped down on the black leather couch, sulking. The blond majordomo looked at the clock, then raised one slim eyebrow.

"It's only 11 o'clock, Alexander. Why aren't you in school?"

"Suspended," came the sullen answer.

"Suspended," Owen repeated. "For what?"

"Fighting."

The boy on the couch - for Owen still thought of him as a boy, even though at 14 he should properly be called a young man - shifted gangly limbs and didn't meet the cool and questioning stare.

"For fighting," Owen finally prompted. He closed the laptop precisely, and Alex winced at the too-sharp sound, risking a quick glance at the assistant. After all this time, he still had trouble judging his mentor's moods. Nothing on Owen's face betrayed disappointment or anger, both of which he had expected.

"I hit another guy," he finally elaborated. "John Devon." Fierce defiance blazed across his face. "He deserved it, Owen! I won't let anyone say things like that and get away with it. I won't!"

Owen was unmoved by the sudden tirade. "What was said?"

Alex's face darkened abruptly and he looked dangerous. "Does it matter? I took care of it."

"It does matter," Owen countered placidly, "or else you would not be in my office right now."

"He said Dad had to buy Mom, and then had to buy me too!" Alex shouted furiously, sparks of aqua power crackling around him. The lights of the office flickered like gutted candles, and had Owen been a lesser man, he might have stepped back to put some distance between the enraged youth and himself.

"That's enough, Alexander," he said quietly.

The gathered power fizzled out, and steady lighting restored itself once more. Once more sullen, Alex shoved his hands in his pockets. Although there had been no sharp reprimand, no command to desist, the red-haired boy knew when his teacher's bounds had been reached.

"How long is your suspension?" Owen inquired, as though nothing had happened.

"Three days."

"Then Friday when you return, you will apologize to the young man you attacked."

"Fine," Alex muttered, scooping his abused backpack from the floor and shouldering it. "Anything else?"

"You will tell your parents when they return from their business trip in Geneva."

The quarter-fey scowled, but nodded. He knew that his parents wouldn't punish him for this, not once he explained what had prompted it. He could very well imagine his father doing the same thing, just perhaps with more finesse. "Fine," he said again, turning to leave, but Owen's regretful voice stopped him in his tracks.

"And there will be no magic lessons for the rest of the week."

"What?" Alex whirled around angrily. "But you said we would! You were going to teach me how to summon aether! I want to learn that!"

"It is an art that requires refined self-control, and your actions today demonstrate to me that yours is lacking. Perhaps a respite from your lessons will improve your temper."

"But that's not fair! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Two weeks." Owen's voice was so soft it was barely audible. "Is that how you want others to see you, Alexander? As a bully? As a thug?"

"I'm not a bully!" Alex yelled, his voice rising in indignation. "I was right to do what I did and you know it! It's not like I used my magic on him. Why are you being like this?"

"Three weeks," Owen said, and he sounded so genuinely remorseful that Alex found he had no words. Still trembling with anger, mouth pressed into a thin white line, his fingers dug into the strap of his backpack until they ached.

Silence stretched between them, brittle as broken glass. "Yes, teacher," Alex finally forced out, betrayal colouring the latter word.

"Very well," Owen opened his laptop again. "You may go, Alexander."

The teen left the office in an icy silence, and try as he might, Owen found he could no longer focus on his work.


	4. Internment

**IV. Internment**

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The next three weeks crawled by with agonizing slowness. As Alex knew they would, his parents only reprimanded him with reminders that he was expected to hold to a higher standard, and no further punishment was meted out. However, it was Owen's punishment that stung deeply, and he watched the calendar with a deep-seated resentment as the days passed. Owen treated him with the same deference as he always had; of his fey mentor, Alex heard and saw nothing at all.

Xanatos noticed the lack of magical training, not in the absence of such showy flashes of light and the occasional whoop of success, but as a settled weariness that seemed to take hold of Owen and refused to let go. No one else would've seen any change in the stoic mask, but he prided himself on not being everyone else.

_It's nothing,_ he told himself. _Puck's just saving up for something really big._

But as the moon waned, and brought with it a new month, Xanatos took to watching his assistant, trying to figure out what it was that was so blatantly off.

"Owen?" Xanatos asked, standing in the majordomo's office doorway. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Of course, Mr. Xanatos," Owen answered, faint surprise colouring his words, as his employer rarely asked for permission. Xanatos clasped his hands behind his back, making a slow circuit of the room. It looked the same. It had looked this way since the building was built.

"Everything going well?" he asked, hoping to sound casual.

Owen raised an eyebrow. "Yes, sir," he answered.

"It's been quiet lately," the billionaire ventured.

A crash of metal on stone reverberated from the corridors above, followed by an exasperated chorus of, "Bronx!" as Xanatos winced and started calculating the metalwork repair costs to that particularly expensive suit of armor.

"I suppose so, sir," Owen agreed with a straight face.

Xanatos abandoned subtlety and found his assistant's gaze (1). "Speak with me," he said.

Bound by an ages-old geas (2), Owen was unable to look away, and yet still he hesitated. "Sir, I-"

"Please."

He could refuse, under the self-imposed terms of his oath, but Xanatos never asked without cause, and his mask suddenly felt too heavy to wear. Pale light like moonbeams fell away, and Xanatos' breath caught. Always slight, Puck's form seemed to have shrunk. Cheek and collarbones stood sharply against sallow skin, and when the fey folded his arms, Xanatos saw that his gold wrist bracers were loose.

"You're starving yourself," he said, distressed.

After the Gathering, once Puck had begun to teach his son regularly, Xanatos had noticed that Owen seemed more alive, or animated, in the days following those magical romps. When questioned about it, Owen admitted that Puck now need such interactions where his magic was accessible, and without them, Owen's form became a prison, sanitized of magic. But since it had never seemed to become serious, and Puck taught Alex frequently, Xanatos hadn't felt the need to address the issue again.

"I'm not," the fey protested, but he sounded unconvinced.

Xanatos took a step towards him, but Puck melted out of the way like quicksilver, yet unable to look away first.

"Why?" the billionaire asked, aghast.

"It's noth-"

_"Why?"_

"It needed to be done." Puck smiled; it seemed pinched. "Besides, I thought you trusted my judgement?"

"I do," Xanatos hurriedly corrected, realizing he'd been put on the defense already. "When will -?"

"In a few days," Puck answered smoothly. "So don't worry so much."

Reluctantly, Xanatos let his gaze slide to the wall, and when he looked back, Owen stood before him again, suit impeccable and expression faintly puzzled. The billionaire nodded, more to himself than anyone, and cleared his throat. "Well, I'm done for the night. We have that Unidyne buyout meeting tomorrow at nine, right?"

"That's correct, Mr. Xanatos," Owen confirmed promptly. "With their legal adviser and union head."

"Excellent. I'll see you at breakfast, Owen. Goodnight."

"Have a good evening, sir."

* * *

The lights were still on in Alex's room, so he knocked on the half-closed door and then pushed it open. His son was lying on his bed, head nodding in time to the music faintly audible through padded headphones and his geography book open in front of him. When he saw his father in the doorway, he slid the headphones down around his neck; Metallica sounded tinny across the distance. "Hi, Dad."

"That your social sciences project?" Xanatos asked, indicating the textbook.

"Yeah," Alex answered, producing a rumpled outline paper. "'Choose a third-world country and write a short-term and long-term plan to improve its economic structure, government, and public services.'"

"Which country did you pick?"

"I haven't yet," Alex sighed. "They're all basically the same. They all need the same things. Food, drinking water, healthcare. I wanted to do this country."

Xanatos was taken aback. "Alex, the United States is the richest and most powerful country in the world."

"It's also got the most problems."

Xanatos couldn't find any argument for that. "Well," he said finally, "don't stay up too late."

"Yes Dad."

"And try to have time for breakfast in the morning."

"Yes Dad."

"And-"

"_Dad,_" Alex groaned, to which his father smiled. "Good_night_."

"Night, Alex."

_Everything's fine,_ Xanatos told himself as he walked down the corridor. _So you can stop worrying._

Despite this, he slept lightly the next few nights.

* * *

1) Like leprechauns, fey can be temporarily bound by holding eye contact, and are unable to look away first. This does not preclude them from any particular ability, including attacking the holder in order to break the hold, merely forces them to reciprocate the gaze until it is released.

2) An oath.


	5. Parlay

**V. Parlay**

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The spring before Alex's 17th birthday, David Xanatos found an unwelcome visitor in his office. "What do you want?" he growled.

Anastasia Renard, her hair now a fine silver, smiled benignly at him. "Hello, David."

"I said, what do you want?"

The older woman smoothed her skirt demurely, but he could see that her mask was cracked. "I want to see my grandson," she said, spreading her hands in front of her. If she had been any other, he would have thought that she looked and sounded helpless, desperately hoping for his agreement.

"No," Xanatos said coolly. "Anything else?"

"Please," she implored. "At least hear me out. I just want to talk to him. Is it wrong to want to get to know him?"

"You have a lot of nerve asking that question, Titania. I thought it was made clear to you that Fox and I don't want you around."

"And I've abided that wish, haven't I? It's been 17 years-"

"Less than a year on Avalon," Xanatos interjected pointedly.

"-and his childhood is almost over," the fey queen continued as though he hadn't spoken or she hadn't heard. "Why do you still fear for him? Haven't you and my daughter filled his ears with warnings and cautions about me? Hasn't the Puck?"

"Leave Puck out of this," Xanatos snapped.

"I haven't come to bewitch him away from you. Can you trust me that much?"

He stared at her, wishing he could read minds. Of course he didn't trust her, and he thought he'd made that as plain as the pointed ears on her head, but obviously not. Yet the longer he watched her, trying to stretch out the silence so his dismissal would be as emphasized as possible, he realized that she didn't look quite the same. There was a lack of insidious... something... that just wasn't there, and against his better judgment, he actually allowed himself to consider the possibility that she might be telling the truth.

"I'll think about it," Xanatos said, and some part of his mind screamed _traitor!_ at him for it. "Fox will decide. She knows better than anyone what you're capable of."

He was perversely pleased when she flinched at the barb, but she drew herself up and nodded calmly. "Very well. May I return in one week for your decision?"

The billionaire nodded curtly, and she walked out of his office; like her arrival, the security cameras recorded nothing.


	6. Satisfaction

**VI. Satisfaction**

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To say that Titania was disappointed with her welcome would be an understatement.

Like her husband, Fox's immediate response had been complete and total dismissal. Yet the idea had gnawed at them both, lurking in the back of their minds. Dismayingly, Owen offered only a single piece of cryptic advice: "Lady Titania does not usually ask for permission."

In the end, it was Alex himself which made the decision. "I would like to meet her," he commented mildly one night, during dinner. "And see what she's like."

A week from Saturday, Anastacia Renard was allowed to take her grandson out for lunch, escorted to the door by two equally parental glares which bespoke, "try anything and die". They were followed by no less than eight highly trained bodyguards, none of which had any sort of identification and of which, six had previously been killers-for-hire. They were given .357 Magnum semiautomatics loaded with iron bullets and very strict orders backed by very large Christmas bonuses. They were also followed by Owen Burnett, although no one saw him. If Titania felt overshadowed by their entourage, she gave no outward sign; though Alex could feel her casting the occasional magical probe over her shoulder.

"How about here?" the fey queen asked, stopping in front of a café called Duncana's.

"It's fine," Alex answered.

"Halcyon took me here for our anniversary," she recalled fondly.

Alex nodded pleasantly. "It's nice. We took Mom here for Mother's Day last year."

Titania's face fell - that had stung. Attempting to recapture a lighter mood once they had been seated, she smiled at the waiter who brought them menus. "Your birthday is coming up in a few months. Would... it be all right if I got you a gift?"

Alex regarded her suspiciously. "You're asking?"

"I won't if it will make you uncomfortable."

He thought about it for a long moment, during which Titania was sure she'd overstepped her bounds and pushed too much, too fast. "I suppose that'll be okay," he said thoughtfully, and she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd drawn.

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Alexander. You've grown so much, you know."

"My parents told you to stay away from me," Alex said bluntly, and the waiter who had been refilling their water glasses raised both eyebrows and beat a hasty retreat. "Why do you think they did that?"

Titania bit her lower lip, a ridiculously human gesture. "I believe it was because they worried you would begin to like me... perhaps even come to love me as a grandmother."

"And that you'd use that, perhaps to try and steal me away again?"

She set the glass down, crystal chiming, and kept her voice steady. "You heard the same argument from your parents as I was given, obviously. Did they tell you to say that to me?"

"No Lady," Alex answered unconcernedly. "They told me that you would say you wanted to get to know me."

"It's true," the queen said, and wished she hadn't just heard a note of desperation in her words.

Again Alex studied her, even as the waiter returned and set their food in front of them. There was something in his stare, a carelessness and lack of awe that not many dared display to the Queen of Avalon. It wasn't that he disrespected her; he had neither respect nor disrespect. A self-confidence was settled over him, more than any young man, even of his pedigree, should rightly have.

"Lady?" Alex asked, and she set her wandering thoughts aside.

"Forgive me, Alexander. I was just, ah, reminiscing."

They made small talk through the meal, and she asked what schools he was thinking of attending, and if he played any sports, and whether he had any girlfriends.

"Lady!" He coughed on his orange juice. "You said that like you expected me to have a harem or something..."

Titania laughed, a genuine tinkling laugh that fell from her lips like a stream of moonlight. It was a sound that had enchanted men and women alike, stolen lovers from their beds to pass through the misty veil between worlds, and even in mortal form it affected the other café patrons, who instinctively shivered in pleasure.

Alex simply smiled, unaffected, but at least content in the knowledge that she could be sincere when she forgot herself.

"I'd like to continue to visit you," she commented as they left Duncana's.

"Okay," he said, sensing the impatience of his many (albeit hidden) bodyguards.

She smiled at him, then turned and melted into the crowd.

"Hm," Alex murmured, and was satisfied. "That'll do."


End file.
